


Notes

by amblypygi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, My First Fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6401137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amblypygi/pseuds/amblypygi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sirius Black escapes from Azkaban, Remus Lupin can feel whats coming next.  Harry Potter's third year at Hogwarts, and Lupin's first in a long, long time.</p><p>Work-in-progress, and my first ever fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. July 31

**Author's Note:**

> **Note and Disclaimer:** I am not a writer, and this the first fan-fiction I've ever shared. Its going to be sappy and overwritten and angsty.
> 
> Two years ago I was rereading the Harry Potter series in between graduate school classes, and thats when I began this story. More recently I decided to take up the books, and this story, yet again.  I've tried to stay reasonably close to the timeline of events laid out in the Prisoner of Azkaban, with some minor liberties as to dates/phases of the moon. 
> 
> I make absolutely zero promises as to the completeness, eloquence, taste, or ending of this little ditty. Will update if/as I have time. This rating will probably be "M" for language, (eventual) M/M slash, and Melodrama. Any and all comments and critiques are welcome. I'm a beginner, so under no circumstances should you go easy on me.

Of course the note comes.  On July 31st the silhouette of an owl looms through Remus Lupin's one, grimy window.  Startled, he lets the tiny thing inside and pulls the note from her leg. She is a screech owl of some type he doesn’t quite recognize, and once he has fed her a cracker and scratched her behind the ear, she leaves without waiting to carry a reply. 

The note is an old scrap of parchment, held in a tight cylinder by a rubber band.  Puzzled, Remus uncurls the paper.

“Fuck,” he says, and drops it.

A moment later he is sitting at the kitchen table, reading the one line over and over with slightly trembling hands.   


On one side, in scrawling handwriting like a child’s, it says, “Moony.” On the other it says,   
“In the woods, the 12th.”  And in place of a signature, the distinct print of a massive paw dipped in ink.

“Fuck,” he says again.

Only four people have ever called him “Moony,” and three are dead.  

And so Remus Lupin, former prefect and future professor, who hasn’t touched a cigarette in nearly 10 years, finds an old tin of fags in the back of his closet and lights one with a silent spell.

He opens the window and hangs his head out, and the air hits him like a cold wave even as the smoke burns his throat.  The cigarette carton says _ Lady Morgan’s Fire-Flavored Cigarillos _ \- “For that extra spark in your spell!” , and the smoke smells and tastes like hundreds of memories from thousands of nights ago.

“Fuck,” he says again, at last, and leans his elbows on the sill, and grasps his face in his hands.   The moon, a cold gash in the foggy London sky, listens but does not reply.


	2. August 2

In the end, he does not go.  On the 2nd, he packs his few belongings and leaves his closet-sized flat forever. That evening he apparates to an abandoned cottage in the countryside, one of the many places  he uses now.   _ To keep from being ostracized, I ostracize myself _ , he thinks, and then rolls his eyes at his own cliched self-pity.

To prepare is a ritual now, perfected over hundreds of nights.  He circles the cottage from the inside, casting charms for protection, for concealment, and for silence.  As the sky bleeds from blue to purple he removes his clothes and folds them neatly into his bag, storing them away with his wand and his dignity.  Now he stands in the center of the room with the last light of evening flowing through the cracks in the shutters and dripping across his naked form.  

“I am human. I am in control,” he tells the empty room, before he begins to forget.


	3. August 3

On the 3rd, he is sitting on a worn out couch above the common room of the Leaky Cauldron, sipping tea across the table from the greatest wizard living.  Remus is grateful to have no more than a few mild scratches from the night before, easily concealed by his threadbare suit.

“You will take the Hogwarts Express with the students?” Dumbledore asks.  Remus nods.  They are both looking out through the window, watching the clouds drift over the the bustle of human activity below.

There is a long silence.  On the table between them is the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, which Lupin does not have the courage to touch.

“Have you… heard anything, Remus?” Dumbledore asks, voicing a question that has been building between them for the past hour.  When Remus does not reply, Dumbledore turns to look at him.  “Are you absolutely certain it would not be … safest... for you to move into Hogwarts early?”

Remus clears his throat awkwardly, feeling vulnerable under those sharp eyes.  “I will be safe enough, I think, thank you, sir.”   
  
Dumbledore waves a hand, “Surely we are past “sir” at this point, Remus?  We are colleagues now.”  Dumbledore places his teacup over the face on the newspaper, and Remus flinches.

“Remus,” Dumbledore says, softly. When Remus looks up Dumbledore is leaning forward, hands clasped, a posture of entreaty.  Remus feels a shiver of panic, and knows he is not ready for this, everything that is happening, for Dumbledore’s sympathy and concern, for whatever Dumbledore is going to say.   _ Please dont ask _ , he thinks.   _ I dont want to think about it, I can’t think about it _ .

“I want you to watch over Harry this year,” Dumbledore continues.  “I… cannot always be there, and few others truly understand the danger he is in.  As you do.”   
  
“I will,” Remus says, not having to hesitate.  “Whenever I can.  Although, you know, sir-” (“Albus, please, Remus”) “-I’m not always… there. Myself.”

“As to that,” Dumbledore replies, leaning back in his chair and taking up his cup again.  “I hope you’ll find a surprise waiting for you at Hogwarts this year.  Have you read through the latest edition of Potions and Alchemy?”  Dumbledore is handing him what looks like a magazine.  A scholarly journal?  Remus raises an eyebrow.

“Read the headline,” Dumbledore prompts.

“ ‘Wolfsbane: New discoveries in the treatment of acute Lycanthropy’”, Remus reads aloud. Remus looks up, and Dumbledore is smiling.


	4. August 31

On August 31st, the night before he leaves for Hogwarts, an owl appears at the window of Professor Lupin’s room at the Leaky Cauldron. This one is large and tawny and fierce, and it stays put as Remus opens the note labelled “Moony” and reads the contents.

“On the 16th, the woods.”

And under that,

“Please.”

Remus stares at the note a long moment.  Then, hands steady this time, he scripts his reply on the back: “Never.”

He ties the note to the owl’s leg, and watches it disappear over the grey rooftops of London.

 

\-----

 

(To be continued...)


End file.
